


I Would Take a Whisper

by sherlockholmes-notanamateur (loki_godofmischiefandlies)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Color Blindness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Soulmates, Unrequited Love, this one is gonna hurt folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loki_godofmischiefandlies/pseuds/sherlockholmes-notanamateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is seen in tones of grey until two soulmates meet. Then the world explodes into a mess of colour, and happiness is found in even the strangest of ways. </p><p>But 1 in every 1,000,000,000 people sees colour without their partner seeing the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Take a Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> There's been a slew of soulmate stories, especially of the Color blind variety, floating around and I was in an angsty mood. Sorry guys. 
> 
> Sherlock does get a bit dark in this one, and if depressed and/or suicidal thoughts and mentions of drug use are a trigger I recommend you don't read.

They say that the moment you see colour is the most incredible moment of your life. And for once, Sherlock Holmes has to agree with the rest of society. The colour starts when his eyes meet John's and his world is flooded with a deep navy blue that is almost black. And then the colour seeps out and Sherlock is seeing sandy gold-grey hair and tanned skin and the drab walls of Bart's and it has never been so wonderful. 

But the wonder is snuffed like a flame when he realizes that John's expression has not changed. John Watson, the stocky man that has given him the most incredible gift someone can give, has not received the gift in turn. 

And then seeing in colour becomes the worst thing that has ever happened to Sherlock Holmes. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

He's able to hide it at first, but then he makes the mistake of yelling "PINK" at a crime scene. The shock is palpable and Sherlock shudders when he realizes the error he has made. He is able to escape the interrogation until the case is over, but after the orange blanket has been tossed into the cupboard and John has left for one of his appointments, Lestrade finds him. 

"So, pink then?" Greg asks, smiling softly as he leans against the doorframe. Sherlock lets his eyes slide shut, blocking out the colour, blocking out  _everything_ , and it's peaceful for a moment. But he knows that he must face Greg, face the bright and hateful world, and so he lets his eyes open again. Greg's eyes are warm, a dark brown that is comparable to mahogany and coffee and he knows why Mycroft's eyes light up every time they see them. 

He hates it. 

"Yes, it would seem so." Sherlock grits out, and suddenly he's shaking and Greg is frowning and there's a rough, familiar hand on his shoulder and the world tilts on its axis. 

That's the first and only time he hears "I'm sorry". 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Sally Donovan is regretfully the next person to notice. Her eyes (sharp, dark, unfortunately functioning) are flickering over case notes that Sherlock has handed over when she freezes. 

"Freak, how come you said that the suspect's shoes were 'charcoal grey with coral accents'?" she questions. Sherlock swallows almost audibly and he is immensely grateful that John has left the room to get coffee and sandwiches. 

"Because that's what they are." he answers, and Sally studies his face for a moment. By now he's perfected his mask of indifference and she doesn't notice something is off until she continues to question him. 

"How the hell do you know what colour the shoes were? The only person around here that's new is John and he hasn't..." her words trail off as a look of horror spreads across her mocha features. "Oh...god, no, Holmes...tell me I'm wrong." 

"For once in my life, I am incapable of doing so. Cherish that feeling. It's probably the only time you'll ever be right." Sherlock snaps, and with that he's wrapping his scarf (navy, like John's eyes) around his neck and fleeing the room before he can receive any more pity. 

Sally doesn't call him 'Freak' after that unless John is around. She seems to know that Sherlock is trying to hide it, and for that the detective is unfortunately grateful. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Molly is the first person to ever see him cry when the subject comes up. They're both sitting in the lab, and Molly is fiddling with a new hair clip. Every once in a while something is so beautiful that Sherlock forgets to hate colour, and that hair clip apparently is one of those things. It is a shimmery thing, flashing reds and greens and blues as it moves in the yellow light of the lab. 

"You okay?" Molly asks when she sees Sherlock's eyes glued to the clip in her hand. 

"It's so colourful." he murmurs without thinking, and Molly's jaw opens the tiniest bit. 

"Who? When?" Molly gasps, and Sherlock's illusion is shattered. The beautiful clip becomes a symbol of his loneliness, the colours burning themselves into the always locked hall of his mind palace labeled SOULMATE. 

"J...John." Sherlock answers, and the quivering of his voice and the heat building up in his eyes are enough to give him away. The doors of that room burst open and everything he has tried to hard to hide, to bury, comes rushing out. The heat is overwhelming now and tears spill down his cheeks, tears that haven't fallen since the day Redbeard died. Molly drops the clip and wraps her arms around him, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth. 

She may not know what it feels like to live in a world that she can never share with the person she was made for, but she does know what it feels like to love someone that won't love you in return. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Mrs. Hudson finds out the day before The Fall. 

When Sherlock jumps, she can't help but feel the tiniest bit of relief that he won't have to live in a colourful yet lonely world anymore. 

When he comes back, she can't help but wish that he hadn't sometimes. The broken look in his eyes is something she can't handle. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

John doesn't find out until after the wedding. After he's found colour in Mary's eyes, after everything had gone wrong with Mary, after Magnussen, after Moriarty's comeback. Sherlock is standing in the centre of 221B surrounded by case files and pictures and a map on the wall overflowing with differently coloured strings. 

"How do you know which ones are which?" John asks, plucking at a crimson strand. Sherlock freezes and looks up from the mess he's created in the now half empty room. His throat feels too tight and his hands shake faintly. The scars on his back ache with phantom pain and he looks away from John's lovely eyes for a moment. 

"I...I see in colour." Sherlock answers honestly, returning to his work and hoping that John will get the hint. John, of course, doesn't. 

"What? Since when? Who is it?" John asks, elation spreading across his face. He's genuinely happy for Sherlock, thrilled that the lonely detective has finally found someone to brighten up his grey world. At that Sherlock slams the file in his hand shut and barely resists the urge to throw it. 

"Someone I met a very long time ago." he says stiffly. John raises his eyebrows. 

"Where is he? Or is it a she?" John presses, and Sherlock does throw the file. Gently. 

"He's never too far." Sherlock whispers hoarsely. John's eyes flicker to the skull and he swallows thickly. Sherlock rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "No, not the skull. He...he's." his voice cracks. 

"Sherlock..." John starts, and Sherlock holds a hand up. He is tired of this charade, tired of pretending he isn't hatefully jealous of Mary, who has everything that he has wanted and won't even tell John her real name. He knows that the USB was empty. He looked. 

"He's the man you see every time you shave. The man that your wife kisses before she goes to bed. The man that Billie calls Dad. The man that shot a cabbie for me the very first night we met and kept me from dying over and over again no matter how badly I wanted to. He's the man I fought a war for on my own, and he's the man I'd do it all again for." Sherlock rambles, tears spilling down his cheeks. John goes pale and he stumbles slightly, moving across the room to get to his friend. 

"Sherlock no." John breathes, tears welling up in his own eyes. "Please tell me you're lying." 

Sherlock laughs brokenly and looks up. "I'm lying." he whispers, tears still flowing, and that destroys John almost as much as the truth does. Sherlock truly would do anything to make him happy. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

John eventually finds out what Sherlock's favourite colour is (it's navy, the same colour as Mary, the same colour as his eyes), what colour grates on his nerves (yellow, the colour Mary picked for the flowers at the wedding, the colour of the sitting room in the Watson family's house), and what Sherlock's favourite thing to look at is now that he can see in colour (it's the sunrise). The sharing hurts both of them immensely, particularly because of the differences in their answers. John likes baby blue, hates purple, and loves looking at flowers now. 

Sherlock never says a word when John sits a bit closer than he used to. He just relishes in the fake intimacy and tells his mind to shut up. He memorizes the exact texture and weight of John's hand when the man squeezes his own reassuringly. He locks up the single swooping sensation of John's lips on his own in his Mind Palace (John had kissed him, just once, when the full details of his years away came to light. Mary had given him permission, not that Sherlock knew that, and it was the most beautiful and hateful moment of Sherlock's life). He hoards the private moments between them when he can trick himself into thinking everything is okay, that John's world was lit up because of him. 

When his mind doesn't stop screaming at him that it's all wrong, wrong,  _wrong_ , he goes back to his old solution, one that is seven percent. 

The cases stop coming, and eventually John does too, but the white-edged blur of his highs are easy compared to the full-fledged brightness of the world. 

The cab accident is the best moment of Sherlock's life. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When he wakes up, the world isn't colourful, it isn't bright...it's black. There's nothing. 

The doctors tell him that the metal and glass from the accident have blinded him permanently. They apologize, unaware that the blackness is bliss compared to a world full of colour that belongs to another person. 

He doesn't have The Work anymore, but he hasn't had it for years anyway. He goes through withdrawal and rehab, and when he comes out on the other side he's got a Seeing Eye dog named Arthur, a red and white cane (well, that's what they say anyway), and a new appreciation for the ability to hear.  

Sometimes he can pretend that he never went colour. Sometimes he can pretend that his heart isn't aching, yearning for another to join it. Sometimes he can sit in the always dark sitting room of 221B and smile. He learns Braille and keeps up with the scientific community by doing so. He can hear John's voice, feel the callouses on his hands that have never really gone away, and it hurts less. Billie's cries of "Uncle Sherlock" don't ache as much, and if he never has to see Mary's pitying smile it will be too soon. So things aren't all that bad, and he lives for another forty three years in darkness. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
